


An Evening, More or Less

by 999blackflowers, wellhereweare



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Angst, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Suicidal Ideation, Unhealthy But Happy, Unhealthy Relationships, VERY UNDERAGE, chubby shota thighs, past attempts, stuffing mentioned obliquely, tragically only mentioned, trigger warnings within
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:47:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23104210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/999blackflowers/pseuds/999blackflowers, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wellhereweare/pseuds/wellhereweare
Summary: [Completed Fanfiction]Our protagonists must navigate the shark infested waters of an alcohol soaked dinner party with some of the worst rich people Britain can churn out in the 70s while avoiding the social and legal repercussions of their relationship, which might kindly be described as unconventional or more honestly as Deeply Ungood. An interesting evening, more or less.
Relationships: Hershel Layton/Luke Triton
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	1. Trip to the Plaza

**Author's Note:**

> a/n from wellhereweare: This violently self indulgent monster is the bastard child of my weird obsession with etiquette/miserable dinner parties and 999’s Timeline, and hip deep in head canon. It’s set in the seventies. Layton and Luke are in a, by now, long term romantic relationship without sex because Hershel is a terrible person with standards. There are reasons for why he’s terrible, but they aren’t important here, because they don’t do a damn thing to change what he does.
> 
> a/n from 999blackflowers: This is primarily Well's work rather than mine but I edited and wrote certain segments of this fic as well as using a metric tonne of headcanon that I've come up with over the years. Journal headcanon will never die
> 
> [CONTENT WARNINGS]  
> Luke is severely underage (13) although their relationship is not sexual. Alcohol is heavily used and sex is discussed/considered but nothing happens. Forced incest is briefly mentioned. Suicide is discussed. Self-harm and self-maiming is discussed. Period typical homophobia. This work does not soften language around Hershel. There will be no further content warnings so please read with caution and take care of yourself.

The doorbell rang at exactly noon, and Hershel was finally sure of his decision to recruit a co-worker, Susan Calbraith, into this farce. Mostly because she’d come to get him, he thought with some embarrassment as he shuffled to the door to let her in. He’d forgotten the shopping and subsequent dinner was today and proposed a lie-in instead. He and Luke had only just gotten up, in fact. Thankfully, he’d dressed before starting his tea.

He really should keep a planner. Luke had one, but he’d genuinely tried not to rely on the child to keep his life in order. He’d been doing better the last few years, but all the same, he got caught up in things. Unfortunately, he and Luke, whose name was also on the invitation, had been press ganged into being Gressenheller’s representative at a patron’s dinner party, and the Dean was taking it very seriously.

Most people were expecting someone very different from Susan Calbraith when they heard she was a professor of Art History at Gressenheller, but Hershel had known the woman long enough to expect her sharp glare. An indomitable woman, she’d put herself and three of her children through college after the death of her husband a decade ago. 

“You haven’t eaten.” Filled with frustration, it wasn’t a question. “Is the child dressed? There’s food in the car.”

“Luke, Miss Calbraith is here.” Hershel called, hoping desperately Luke was, in fact, dressed. Luke had gone to sleep in pyjamas the night before, but the boy had a terrible habit of stripping himself down to his underwear and socks and wandering around the apartment to tease poor Hershel. It could be frustrating, but he especially didn’t want any raised eyebrows if Susan saw. Luke drifted in, blessedly dressed in his favourite cozy jumper and green shorts, pulling on his hat. 

“Are we going already, Professah?” The boy asked, swiping sleepily at one eye and looking up at Hershel. Hershel’s heart squeezed just watching him. “We’ve not eaten yet.” 

“There’s food in the car.” Susan repeated, more gently. Hershel had earned something of a reputation for being unmanageably airheaded because of Emmy’s close scrutiny, but Luke was well-loved by the staff for his bright personality and quick mind. It helped, Hershel thought with some humor as the boy thanked her, that he was a dreadfully cute child. 

Susan’s car was vintage, like his own, though much more obsessively maintained. A fresh coat of yellow paint left it visible at a distance. As she’d said, there was a bag of filled croissants wanting for them inside on the leather seats. Hershel took two for himself and passed the rest of the bag to Luke. 

“We will be going to get clothes, then everything else.” She informed them evenly, waving off Luke who’d offered her one of the croissants. “You didn’t give me enough time to schedule a tailor properly so instead we will be buying off the rack and having them customized, slightly.” Censure underlined her voice, but she didn’t look at Hershel even as he tried not to fuss with his hat. He really had been better lately, but it was hard to explain why these things were so hard for him to a  _ normal _ adult. “Thankfully, I found a formal wear shop with same day tailoring for smaller improvements.” 

The rest of the trip was much less awkward, as Luke took it upon himself to chatter merrily the whole time. He only required the occasional response. Hershel had simply assumed the boy was extroverted, at first, but he’d since discovered Luke did it, in part, to fill the quiet for other people.   
“-some filled with brie and strawberries! I didn’t think it’d be a good combination, but I actually really liked it.” Luke said as they stepped into the plaza, a small upper class shopping centre with a checked floor and a beautiful glass roof. In the center sat gilded tables with beautiful white cushioned seats and carved backs. It had a cafe, a millinery, a formal wear shop. Hershel stopped for a moment, fingering the brim of his top hat.

“Fruit and cheese is a traditional combination. Good cheese, anyway.” Susan said, smiling faintly at the boy, who nodded. Hershel inspected the boy carefully, unsure if the idea coming together was workable. 

“It seems like a lot of places in London don’t have any good cheese, so that’s part of why I was so surprised. Even if the combination  _ would _ be good, I wasn’t sure if it would even be brie when they brought it out, let alone one that was quality.” Susan opened the door to the formalwear store, presumably because Luke couldn’t reach the bronze knob and held it for them both.

The clerk called out a welcome, and Luke chirped something back. 

“I will pick something out for the two of you. _Stay here._ ” Susan pointed at them sternly as she turned to the racks.  
“Yes, ma’am.” Luke responded and bounced to Hershel’s side. He grinned up at Hershel, and he settled a hand on the boy’s head for a moment. When Susan turned a corner, he moved it to the boy’s shoulder. Luke leaned into it.

“We’ll stay right here.” There was something indescribable about feeling how little Luke was, Hershel thought as he rubbed small circles into the boy’s back with his thumb. A jolt went through him. Luke, understanding, caught his hand and squeezed it before letting go, a sad sort of understanding in his face. 

_ I want to run my hands over every inch of him, to feel how his little body shifts as I touch him. _ But his journal wasn’t in its proper place in his breast pocket. A sheer, blinding panic crashed over him, his brain immediately showing him a macabre painting of his life in ruin. A deep breath in, out. Focus, where was it last? 

Last night after dinner, Luke in pyjamas he’d had for years. He’d had to change into new larger ones because he’d grown out of his older ones, having put on a bit of weight over the last year. Layton had written some, then put it in a drawer of the side table instead of into his coat. Luke had asked about it.

Apparently, last night he’d remembered today’s plans fine. He found it more frustrating than forgetting outright. Thankfully, only Luke appeared to have noticed his distress.

"It'll be okay, Professah. We just need to get through tonight, okay? You can survive without your journal for a day." The boy whispered assuringly, as Susan was returning with several suits.

“I don’t know your sizes, but this should give us a baseline, even if none of them work. If one of them  _ does _ fit, call for a clerk so they can check you over and note necessary modifications as they do quick tailoring here.” She handed them to Layton. “I’ll let you help Luke, I assume he’d be more comfortable with someone he knows well.” Oh, that was not part of the plan. “Well?” She added, when he didn’t start moving. Luke took the sleeve of his free arm and pulled him in the direction of the dressing rooms.

“I’m thirteen. I don’t actually need help getting dressed.” Luke pointed out, primly. The poor thing was frustrated with his size, even though it affected Hershel so strongly. He felt guilty about it, but Luke’s vexation actually made Hershel feel better about their relationship, that Luke valued his encroaching adulthood instead of being stunted by Hershel’s tastes.

“You can still help me, if you want...” The boy whispered when he passed the smaller suits to him, carefully not to let the clerk watching the rooms overhear. 

_ I want to help. _

“It would be better if I refrain.” He stepped into his own dressing room. It was just a small curtained stall. If he bent down, he could probably see Luke’s little Mary Janes. More, if he tried. Luke wouldn’t mind as long as he warned him, and it would be less conspicuous than joining him. 

He was not going to do that.

Hershel set his hat gently on the coat hook and quickly stripped. The first suit was fine, if tight across the shoulders.

The second suit, though, was a very nice stark black three piece, cut close. It would need to be hemmed, because it was obviously made for a taller man, but it fit well otherwise. He settled his hat on his head and inspected himself in the long mirror

He actually looked very good. The color, which also disguised that he’d fallen out of shape, combined with the hat made him seem almost… imposing. He caught sight of his blank face in the mirror and huffed a laugh at his thoughts. It needed something else, anyway. Perhaps a lapel pin?

He shook the thought out and moved onto the next suit. Unfortunately, the trousers were rather uncomfortable, so he returned to the second suit and called for the clerk. The young man quickly measured and pinned it in place before helping Hershel disrobe without dislodging anything. The changes would be minimal thankfully, so the suit would do. The clerk took it into the back, and Hershel redressed, careful to return the top hat to its proper position. 

As he was coming out, Luke began to call for someone to come to his dressing room. Hershel jolted but came back to reality as another clerk bustled in, careful to slip past the curtain without revealing anything. Curses, he thought before he could stop himself.

“Luke? I’m going to pop over to the next shop for just a moment.” Susan eyed him unkindly as he passed, but he only smiled ruefully. He quickly steered into the millinery shop. If he didn’t have time to find what he wanted he could look later, but this was such a perfect opportunity.


	2. Unorthodox Engagement

The shop had hats in an enormous variety, but Hershel had a fair idea of the one he wanted already. He’d had to do some quick measuring with his hand, but he now had a size in mind. The selection for children was slim at best, mostly fiddler’s caps, but a few baseball caps and even a couple of fedoras. They were  _ wrong _ , and too big for Luke anyway. Frustrated, Hershel moved to the women’s section on the off chance they might have something. Some of them would have made fine gifts, if not for the weight of this choice. All of them were too large at any rate.

He stopped a passing clerk and asked quietly if they had smaller sizes than the usual for children. The man asked how small and looked startled when Hershel clarified. 

“I think we might have some in the back? That sort of thing doesn’t sell very well here, you understand.” He checked his watch. Luke should be done soon, if he wasn’t already. This wasn’t a decision that should be rushed, he knew, but if he felt if he saw the right one, he would know right away.

“Might I look through them quickly?” It couldn’t hurt to check. The man waved him into the back room and led him to a section far to the left. 

The boxes were stacked high, and Hershel glanced over them quickly to find the ones that might fit Luke. Three were fiddler’s caps, and he discounted them immediately. A paperboy’s hat much like Luke’s current one was similarly rejected. A few ball caps, then, Hershel came across a boater hat. 

Specifically, it was made from thick, felt the color of cobalt glass with a flat top and moderate width, flat brim. Wrapped around the base was a light blue ribbon, much like the one on his own top hat. In fact, it looked a bit like a miniature top hat.

It was perfect.

“This one is exactly what I needed. Thank you.” He told the clerk, who looked a bit concerned by his vehemence but rang him up promptly. He hurried back to the formal wear shop.

Worryingly, the man was still in with Luke, so he reined in his nerves and returned to Susan. She raised a brow at his bag but didn’t ask. Hershel smiled slightly at her. Susan stared back, and he braced himself for initiating small talk, aware that neither of them truly wanted to make conversation. He did need to thank her for her help, however, the day was going much more smoothly than he’d feared.

“You have a good eye for clothing.” He told her, impressed but not surprised. He’d never seen her anything but impeccably dressed. Emmy had seen her in considerably less, to his understanding, but it wasn’t any of his business who either of them took to bed. “I appreciate your helping me.” She was significantly shorter than himself or Emmy but thickly built, sturdy, with long tightly tied hair and dark skin. A lovely contrast to Emmy, he’d thought, though they hadn’t been involved long. A thought bubbled in his mind, wondering what they’d looked like entwined. 

Stop it.

“You’re welcome.” She answered, evenly, though by now he wasn’t quite sure what they’d been talking about. “I assumed you’d need help, when I heard you got pegged for the Herman dinner this year.”  _ Entirely _ the wrong image came to mind. Hershel lamented his mind silently, working for once to keep his face blank.

“Would you mind holding this for me, Miss Calbraith?” He asked, eyes flickering over the rack, looking for anything out of place that he might use to distract himself. He heard her shift beside him and passed the bag to her. “Thank you.”

“Professah! They said mine could be finished soon so I’m done with suits.” Luke bounded to them. The child had saved Hershel a thousand times today alone, it felt. I’ll need to buy him ice cream after this nightmare is over, he thought. “What did you pick? The black three piece, the gray three piece, or the blue one?” Hershel hummed, as though considering the question. 

“You know, I don’t remember.” He teased lightly. “What do you think?” The boy’s scrunched his face, thinking it over. Hershel desperately wished he could kiss Luke's tiny nose. Not here, not with an audience.

“Shoes, boys.” Susan reminded, herding them to the right section. Luke glanced at her bag and up at Hershel, but he only smiled, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. Luke huffed and went back to considering his answer. Susan made them sit on a small bench by the racks and left again.

“The black three piece.” Luke decided, “Mostly because I always pick blue for me, and I can’t imagine you in gray.”

“Blue tonight too then?” He asked the boy, amused. Luke, ever decisive, always knew what he wanted from the start. “You are correct, though.” He smiled down at Luke, catching the scent of his apple shampoo this close. 

Susan returned to give them two pairs of Oxfords, one small and made from patent leather, before leaving again with instructions to stay on the bench. Luke took the smaller pair and sat them next to him, pulling one chubby leg up onto the bench to undo the shoe he was already wearing. Hershel could see clearly down the leg of his shorts. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling, instead, and took a deep breath. Released it.

His own shoes came off quickly, and he was soon standing in them, testing the fit. He checked on Luke, who was now running some tests of his own, hopping and dancing. Hershel found the boy's usual Mary Janes very cute, but something about how adult a pair of Oxfords seemed made the mirror-finish miniatures Luke wore all the more charming. 

The boy bounced back over, grinning. 

"You look pleased." Hershel found himself utterly enchanted. Luke was a child, but so often, he would act much older in front of Hershel. 

"I feel a bit taller in these…" It carried the air of a grave confession, and Hershel couldn't hold the chuckle that bubbled out of his throat.

"You look a bit more mature, I must admit."

“Layton,” Susan was carrying a garment bag, as she flew towards them. “Give me the tags for those and put this on.” He found his new suit, when he took the bag. “Luke, your tags, too.”

He hurried to the dressing rooms, though he had to use the one Luke had used earlier because someone had taken his. He slid off his hat and set it gently aside, before removing the rest of his outerwear.

The trousers went on first, fitted over his thighs. He shrugged on the crisp white button up and tucked it in carefully. The stark black waistcoat went over that, and the matching jacket went on after that. It was simple, but he thought it looked rather elegant. 

“A tie.” He realized suddenly. He should have been finding a tie. He didn’t regret his decision, though. Luke would be delighted with his new hat.

He gathered his things in the garment bag, about to duck out of the small dressing room when he heard Luke’s voice.

“Professah? I brought some things for your suit.” Instead of waiting outside, Luke burst into the dressing room. “I thought you’d-” He stopped, staring up at Hershel. 

“A gentleman would ask for permission before entering a private space such as this.” He told the boy, though he couldn’t work up a scolding tone under such obvious appreciation. “First, my hat, please, dear boy?” 

The boy skittered over to the bench and set down the assortment he was carrying before he carefully, reverently, picked up Hershel’s top hat.

“Here you go, Professah.” Luke spoke in a whisper, still staring wide-eyed. “You look...”

“Well-dressed for once?” Hershel teased lightly. “What did you bring to show me?” The boy started and went back for his treasures, one of which thankfully looked like a tie. Luke handed that to him first. It was black with embroidery the same burnt umber as his hat band.

“It should match your ribbon  _ and _ your suit.” Luke said, more himself. “I can tie it for you, if you like!” The worst part about that offer was that he almost took it, despite having been the sort of teenager who wore ties.

“I believe I shall manage.” Hershel replied, doing it up in a practiced windsor as he spoke. “Anything else you’d like to show me, Luke?”

“A pocket square, a proper one, not just for decoration.” To Hershel’s surprise, it matched the tie perfectly, and he thanked Luke as he tucked it into the outside breast pocket. “And for the last thing, you have to lean down.” The man did as he was asked.

Luke stood on his toes and carefully attached a thin chain leading from the lapel to the pocket. Then, placing his hands carefully on Hershel’s shoulders, he pulled the man down ever so slightly to kiss him.

Hershel let his eyes flutter closed. It was dangerous to do this here, but the boy’s soft mouth was a terrible temptation. He curled one hand around the boy’s head to cradle it and pressed just a shade harder against his lips. He pulled away slowly and stood up straight, flushed.

“Luke...” He meant to scold the boy, but he looked too dazed to take it in.

“One, one more thing, Professah. I almost forgot.” He rasped and got his last offering from the bench.

They were a pair of soft, leather gloves the color of jet. Hershel folded them over and carefully pulled them over his hands. He tightened one into a fist for a moment, enjoying the shine as they went tight over his knuckles. When he looked up at Luke, the boy was staring, mesmerized.

“I look alright, then?” He asked. He wasn’t the sort to fish for compliments, but something about the boy’s admiration made him want to preen. Luke swallowed.

“You look  _ very _ handsome, Professah.” Luke whispered, his voice drawling and dreamy. Hershel couldn't look away from his starry night eyes, dark and sparkling.

Susan called for Luke from somewhere nearby. He looked as though he was having a hard time looking away, so Hershel walked him out to her.

“There you are.” Susan said, visibly relieved. “I thought for a moment you got away from me.”

“I was taking in the rest of the Professah’s outfit.” She inspected Hershel and nodded.

“You’ve got taste, at least. Here,” She handed him a very small garment bag. “Get dressed, we’ll find the rest of yours.”

“Oh, I’ve already got a tie.” Luke told her, cheerfully. “I picked it out when I was looking for the Professah’s.” Confusion came and cleared from her face in a heartbeat.

“You’re very precocious.” She informed him evenly. “I bet you’ll be a nightmare as a teenager.”

“I  _ am _ a teenager.” He informed her, primly offended as he ducked back into the dressing room. Susan’s face cracked into a sharp smile.

“Good luck, here in a couple years. God knows you can’t get by without him.” Most people would be teasing, but Susan was deadly serious.

“I will absolutely be a mess.” He answered with the same blunt honesty. “If you give me my bag, you can wait at the cafe, if you want. I’m not going anywhere without him, and we both know he’ll keep me on track.” She hummed agreeably and passed the bag back without question, gliding out of the store.

Hershel tried to calm his heart as he watched the clerks in his periphery. He took a deep breath and stepped close to the dressing room Luke was using. 

“Luke?” He called, voice low. “Are you dressed?”

“Just the tie left, Professah. I’ll be right out.” Another deep breath, and out again.

“That’s alright. I need to step in to speak with you for a moment.” When he moved the curtain, the boy was looking up at him, curiously. 

Hershel stopped, stunned. Luke was dressed in a very dark blue suit covered in brocade only a shade lighter throughout. It should have been too much, but it only lent the child a strange sort of elegance.

He stepped inside and slid the curtain as closed as it would go, without turning to Luke yet. “Great minds think alike, it seems.” He admitted. “I stepped out for a moment earlier to get a finishing touch for you as well. I assumed if I was holding it you’d asked, so I was waiting.” 

He finally turned to the boy, and the sight was as heartstopping as it was at first glance. Luke was always a frustratingly adorable child, even in such unforgiving lighting, but so close and so carefully dressed, it felt like being under a spell. 

“You got me a present?” He asked, his petal pink lips pulling into a smile. Hershel’s hands shook where they clutched the handles of the bag to keep from reaching out. “You didn’t need to do that. The new clothes are enough.”

“No, I thought it was time I gave you this.” The boy furrowed his brow. “Turn to the mirror and close your eyes.” The boy did as he was asked. Hershel set the bag on the bench and removed the box. He opened it, and with the same care Luke had shown, Hershel took the hat in his hands. He knelt behind the boy and gently, meticulously set the hat on his head at exactly the angle he wanted.

Luke went so still the man wasn’t sure he was breathing. He leaned forward to peek over the boy’s shoulder to look at his face in the mirror. Hershel smiled at the astonishment he found there, and mindful of his closeness, finally spoke.

“You can open your eyes, Luke.” As he spoke, the boy immediately opened his eyes inspecting himself in the mirror. “Do you like it?”

Hershel could feel the boy shaking, but he didn’t answer. Just as Hershel was beginning to wonder if perhaps the gift was premature, Luke gulped a deep breath, his eyes going shiny as they began to brim with tears.

“Is it really for me?” The boy sniffled, sounding shyer than he ever had. “Oh, I love it, Professah, so much. Is it really mine?” 

Hershel choked up and instead of answering directly, settled his chin on the boy’s delicate shoulder. He made eye contact with Luke in the mirror and nodded minutely, knowing he could feel it. “Professah, this is… this is like an engagement ring, isn’t it? From you, I mean."

“I'm aware of the implications, yes. That's why I picked it.” His voice rumbled thickly in his throat. He wondered absently if the boy could feel it in his chest, the way Hershel could feel Luke breathing. He settled his hands lightly on the boy’s waist and took a moment to collect his thoughts. “I wanted you to know I will love you for the rest of my life."

“When you say that,” Luke started, hands coming to rest over Hershel’s holding them tightly to himself. “It sounds a lot like you’re asking me to marry you, and you shouldn’t, if you don’t mean it.” The child, usually so vibrant, sounded terribly vulnerable. Hershel had tried to be circumspect, to offer his affection without any obligation, but unfortunately, it seemed he'd only left Luke on edge about something that felt as though it were written on his face.

“Luke, I would tie myself to you in an instant if I thought you’d never regret it.” He confessed, quietly, hoping that it wouldn't scare the boy. “As it stands, I’m waiting to be sure you won’t.”

“You do want to marry me, then?” The boy clarified and brightened like the sun breaking the horizon. “You could just say that, Professah.” Hershel let go of the boy’s waist and pulled him back into his chest in a tight hug, relieved beyond words. His heart fluttered, just from watching Luke's face.  
“I do, very much, want to marry you.” Hershel told him, fond and amused. He let himself enjoy this moment, his adorable boy in his arms, and pulled him harder against his chest. Luke clutched Hershel's sleeves in dainty hands, trying to hold Hershel against him, and overcome, he kissed the boy's soft cheek. 

The boy turned his face to Hershel, who ached at how lovely the child was. It took his breath away, sometimes, how deeply he loved his boy. He finally got to kiss the tip of Luke's nose and held him close, wishing the moment could last.

Entirely too soon, he let go and stood, one knee protesting loudly. “We should step out, soon, or Susan might begin to wonder.” Luke was rubbing at his still teary eyes. 

“I… I need to come up with a good proposal.” Luke sniffled, a smile coming to his lips. “More romantic than a changing room...”

“I suppose you will have to.” Hershel tipped the boy’s face up and gently wiped away what tears were left, leaning down and kissing each eyelid before he let go. “Ready?” Luke nodded, grinning brightly up at him. 


	3. Into the Lion's Den

Traditionally, one would be a quarter of an hour late to a dinner party like this one. However, they’d had very strict instructions and a stricter chaperone for the day. Or had had, Miss Calbraith was acting as their driver tonight to ensure they wouldn’t make an early escape and as such would be staying with the car. 

Luke thought it was a shame she couldn’t come; she’d done an amazing job keeping them ‘normal’ in public while clothes shopping with just her very stern face. If she found them out, she wouldn’t call the police; she’d probably kill the Professah on the spot. Emmy had never managed half as well, and he’d seen her kick men the size of gorillas through windows. He supposed it was because for all that she protested their relationship, she’d never actually done anything of consequence.

Either way, the day had been successful so far, and he and the Professah were creeping through the gardens of a grand house looking, he thought, very well dressed. The gardens they were walking through had been meticulously cared for, somehow even the gravel on the path seemed neatly arranged. 

He looked up, to see the man himself handsome and just a bit grim. Hershel looked rather as he did before a sword fight, but he softened when he noticed Luke’s attention.

“Are you nervous, Professah?” The boy asked quietly. It seemed odd to see the man so uncomfortable.

“Honestly? I am, a bit.” Layton admitted. “I have some skill in this kind of thing, believe it or not, but the highest stakes involved usually amount to avoiding an awkward silence.” The man took a deep breath and leaned closer to Luke’s level. The boy’s head swam for a moment. Hershel was _very_ dapper tonight. “We need to maintain an above board appearance.” The boy nodded. He’d heard this more than once in the last few days. In the last few years, too, honestly, worded a million ways. “I am going to need your help with this.”

“Of course, I’ll be good.” He had experience finding a balance between being themselves and _being themselves_ , but the Professah didn’t seem reassured.

“I’ve neglected to mention this before, in part because you have a terrible habit of plotting against my better judgement, but it’s been made clear that I will be… Partaking tonight. In alcohol.”

The immediate thrill of that information was drowned by the realization that tonight was probably going to be complicated. 

“I’ll do my best.” He assured the man. “And I’m sure you’ll do okay.” It was frustrating to find himself hoping for Hershel to be a well behaved drunk, but it was something to play with later. The Professah nodded and stepped back. Luke knew, objectively, he wasn’t an especially tall man, but he had an incredible presence. He looked almost kingly in the half light. 

“All the same, if I don’t, ask me about ‘the fish puzzle’, and I will know we need a plan of escape.” Hershel spoke softly. Luke nodded, enraptured.

As they made their way through the garden to the mansion entrance, Luke thought back to a conversation he’d heard last week. He had been sitting on the chaise lounge in the bedroom with his workbook in his lap as he puzzled over the mystery of long division, but the telephone conversation he could hear getting louder in the living room stole his attention. He set the book aside and slipped to the door to peek.

“Delmona, with all due respect, I don’t think you understand what you’re asking of me.”

Silence and chatter. Luke’s eyes had drifted to see Hershel nervously fiddling with a pen as he spoke on the phone.

“I suffer a chronic pain disorder, severe enough I need to take painkillers throughout the day. You’ve seen them on my desk.” Hershel spoke. “I will not be able to use my medication for 48 hours.”

Luke perked up, at the familiar excuse. His _chronic pain disorder_ was at best a thinly veiled metaphor for his emotional reaction to his _expanded tastes_. At worst, it was a blatant lie involving his migraine medication and why he would never touch alcohol. He wondered why it was being brought up. 

“If I’m truly expected to…” Hershel sighed. “If it is inescapable, I will watch myself, _but._ ”

The Professah could make anything _bigger_ somehow, one small pause and it felt like the world sat frozen with baited breath for the rest of what he had to say.

“...If anything happens, you will be held accountable.”

Luke had turned his attention away from his homework to revel in the man’s darkened voice, a shiver dancing down his spine. 

“It may not happen for a couple years, but if anything _does_ come out, no one in the world will doubt you held some blame, is that clear?” The Professah said, ominously. His expression lightened for a moment as he seemed to realize how threatening he sounded. “...Deepest apologies.”

He had been too focused on the man’s voice to realize what they were talking about, though in retrospect it was painfully obvious. I should’ve actually listened to that conversation instead of just soaking up the sound, he thought as he moved up the tall stairs up to the entrance to the mansion. Hershel held his hand so he could more easily hop up them. Curse these tiny legs, he huffed. 

The Professah stopped at the door, readying himself. He turned to Luke, waiting to get a nod of confirmation before he raised his gloved hands to the door, rapping his knuckles on the cocoa coloured wood.

A lovely young woman, the host Robert Herman’s third wife according to his research, opened the door almost immediately, welcoming them into a posh drawing room. 

“Professor Layton! It is such a pleasure to finally meet you.” She cooed in a soft, undefinable accent. “My name is Babette, I am Robert’s wife. Your trip here was good, I hope. Did you find the house easily?” The Professah answered as Luke tuned it out. He’d been dragged to so many similar events when he was still living with his parents, he could have had the entire conversation himself.

She finally released them in a fine parlor and fluttered back to her post. The Professah hurried him into the dining room and passed a large Renaissance painting, a Masaccio the man whispered. There were beautiful red plush sofas and a genuine Persian rug.

The difference between a dinner party and a ball is not the size, in Luke’s experience, or even the structure. It’s the razor blade glint in the eyes of everyone looking at them now. He’d prefer a pit of lions, but he had obligations. The hostess should have walked them in and introduced them to someone before wandering off, but then, they probably didn’t need the help if Hershel was the guest of honor. Luke looked around the room. There was a crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, more paintings of lesser note. The tall arched windows were covered in velvet curtains; the hardwood floors gleamed so brightly Luke caught his own reflection in them. 

In the middle was a large table set for eleven. Around it, the guests were starting to gather. One, a woman Hershel’s age, came over, her walk full of purpose.

“Forgive me for being so forward,” She crooned. “But you wouldn’t happen to be _the_ Professor Hershel Layton, would you?” She batted her eyelashes, and the boy fought back the urge to gag.

This wasn’t uncommon, but it never became less infuriating. The Professah took it with good grace though, perhaps not even noticing.

“Hello, ma’am. You are correct.” He smiled, very slightly. No, Luke thought, he had no idea. “I’m afraid you have me at something of a disadvantage, though.” She offered her hand, flat to be kissed. 

“Evangeline Farday.” She said, voice slick and supercilious. The Professah took her hand in one of his own, much larger ones, and Luke tensed, furious. If the man tried to do it, the night would fail early because he would remove her rings on the outside of her gloves, tramp hands from Hershel before she had her next heartbeat.

“A pleasure.” He said, then he gently shook and released it. 

She looked stunned. Luke stifled laughter, somehow, even when she looked at him as if hoping for an explanation. Luke just shrugged lightly. The man had _no idea_. Behind her, the two other hopefuls looked, well, significantly less hopeful.

“Ah, Professor, I’m glad you made it!” A booming voice rang out from a nearby doorway, startling Luke and Ms. Farday.

“Mr. Herman-” The Professah started.  
“Robert, please.” The man had a wide, jovial face, but an aura that reminded Luke strongly of Descole. Hungry, in an intellectual, human way.  
“Then you must call me Hershel, please.” Luke tightened his face so he didn’t pout. He was allowed to use the Professah’s first name, privately, but it didn’t feel right to hear it or even say it aloud. “You have a lovely home.”

“Thank you, thank you. It means a lot coming from a man who’s seen so much.” Mr. Herman turned his attention to Luke. “And you must be young Mr. Triton. I’m actually an acquaintance of your father’s through Dr. Schrader.” This was generally the part of the conversation where they expressed surprise because they thought he was older, taking him for as young as he looked, or they lied blatantly and told him he looked very grown up. Surprisingly, Mr. Herman did neither. “You have clever eyes, my boy. I’ve heard you manage to keep up with him quite well.” He gestured at the Professah.

“I’m his apprentice!” Luke chirped, happy to be on familiar ground. “I have to be worthy of it.”

“Good, good.” Mr. Herman clapped once, a sharp, bright sound. “Let’s get everyone seated then, eh?” He thumped one bulky fist down on Luke’s shoulder and started to lead him away from the Professah. 

“Sir?” There was a note of panic in his voice he couldn’t entirely hide. He didn’t like being separated in general, but it was also never a good sign when someone did it. “I thought I would be seated with the Professah.” From the corner of his eye, he could see the Professah turning a grab for Luke into straightening a sleeve.

“About that.” Mr. Herman grinned down at Luke. “I thought you might prefer to spend a bit of time with someone closer to your age, since you’re trapped with us crusty old men most of the time.” Hershel was not _crusty,_ but he couldn’t argue the point with the host, especially this early in the evening. “Besides, it’s traditional to split up people who come together.”

“Yes.” Luke said, trying not to sound as testy as he felt. “That applies mostly to married people though, doesn’t it?” Mr. Herman nodded. Hershel, pleasingly, looked a bit lost without Luke at his side.

“Usually, but as much time as you spend together, you must feel a little married, you poor thing.” He laughed as though he’d said something funny, not something that shifted Luke’s whole world to the left an inch. Could they be considered married?

Mr. Herman pulled him to the far side of the table. The name placards read Valerie on his left and Yarrow on his right. Embarrassingly, he had to help Luke into the chair - which had a cushion on it for him specifically. He settled in, suddenly distracted by whether being married would make him Flora’s stepfather, and thanked the man absently. 

Across from him, the Professah sat, chewing his lip a little and watching Luke closely. Luke’s brain had come to a complete stop, like a car smashing into a wall, thanks to that thought about Flora. When he made eye contact with Hershel, he could almost hear the alarms going off behind the man’s eyes. Luke shot him the most cheering look he could muster, and he smiled back weakly. They hadn’t even been served the first course.

A blond man in a loud suit dropped into the seat to his right. Yarrow then, and while he was younger than most here, he was hardly Luke’s age. Displeasure bled into his expression when he noticed Luke, and he turned to his other neighbor. Anger flickered and died in his chest. It was _rude_ , but it also made Luke’s life much easier. It was one less person he had to be careful around. Still, he made a face at Hershel, just a twist of his lips. The professah furrowed his brows a touch, expression almost stern, but the faint lines around his eyes crinkled enough that Luke could tell he’d managed to cheer him up a little. 

As the other guests filtered in, Luke remembered, quickly yanking his linen gloves off and pocketing them. ‘Gloves’ he mouthed at Hershel, who looked embarrassed. He pulled on each finger, slowly peeling the soft, ink black leather off his broad hands. Luke’s dry throat clicked when he tried to swallow. Hershel discretely slid the gloves into his coat pocket. 

A woman’s voice, strident and clear, filtered into the room, followed by the speaker. She was tall, in a way few women were, with a long, wiry braid and strong shoulders. She moved through the room with a disdain and familiarity that told him who she was long before she reached her seat. Valerie Herman, sixteen. The chair scraped loudly as she threw herself bodily into it. When she caught his eyes on her, her expression morphed first to something like fury, then humor.

“How old are you, exactly, 10?” She asked in a whisper. Luke stiffened, but he held back his first instinct.

“13. I’m Luke La- Triton.” He saw the Professah flinch in his periphery. It was a bad slip, but he considered it Mr Herman’s fault for putting marriage in his head.

“The Scooby Doo kid? Layton’s sidekick?” As frankly infuriating as that was, she seemed genuinely interested. “I’d introduce myself, but if you haven’t figured it out, you’re a fraud.” He nodded a little, and repeated her name and age back to her. She perked up a bit.

“Most people think I’m well into my twenties.” She certainly looked it. “That’s not bad, Watson. What about that flash idiot?” She nodded at Yarrow. 

“That’s not how this works.” Luke grumbled, but he looked at the man closely. The suit was new but tacky, purple and patterned with white fleur-de-lis symbols. His hair was longer than was considered appropriate but not enough to be rebellious. Young. “Your cousin?” He offered after a moment of thought. 

“I’d applaud, but I’d rather not remind my dad I’m here.” She smiled lightly. “Dad’s trying to marry me off, but I’ve scared everyone off. I’d rather not get his hopes up, so I’m probably not going to talk much, but it’s nice to meet you.” Luke figured if the man near her age Mr. Herman had invited was her cousin, he must not be trying very hard.

“You, too.” He said, even though he wasn’t sure that was true. Thankfully, a pair of servants were bringing out the first course. Charcuterie boards were placed along the table stacked high with crackers, cheese, meats, and fruit. It wasn’t quite what he expected, but he certainly wasn’t going to argue with a big plate of cheese. He loaded up the smallest plate, the one on top of the stack. 

He was halfway through a thick slice of brie, when he heard the Professah’s voice. He was speaking quietly with one of the servants who were pouring wine. The young woman looked uncertain and waved her hand. Hershel’s expression turned a bit stony, but he nodded very lightly. She filled his glass with the same white wine all the adults at the table had, though much less. Luke noticed he wasn’t the only one watching when he heard the murmurs.

Hershel’s frequent refusal to drink and his melancholy nature combined to form a popular rumor, one Luke badly disliked. The timing and the reasons changed depending on who told the story, but they all agreed that the professah didn’t drink because he used to be an alcoholic. In retrospect, that may have been part of why he was supposed to drink tonight. With a sigh so heavy Luke could see his shoulders sink, the man swirled and put his mouth to the glass. Whether he was actually sipping it, Luke couldn’t tell. 

All of a sudden. Luke found himself riveted. He watched the Professah through his lashes. He really was a handsome man, strong features accentuated by the stark black suit. With the glass in hand, he looked very much like a man of his standing, a distinguished scholar and adventurer. 

The Professah set aside the glass as though it were full of acid and turned to his left, a man about his own age.

“You know, this reminds me of a puzzle.” The Professah visibly brightened. “About poisoned wine.”

“The real puzzle here is how you’re ignoring both the spread and the wine.” The man he was speaking to chuckled. “It’s a fine pair.” 

“Oh, I did try it. It’s very good quality.”

“Didn’t try much, it looks like.” The man made of show of looking at the wine glass. “A bit more over here, my sweet,” he called to the young woman carrying the wine. Dutifully, she crept close. “My good man here, Professor Layton, rarely allows himself so pleasant an experience as this dinner, so we should keep him in good cheer, yeah? Please, top him up.” 

“Sir?” She asked, obviously uncomfortable. Hershel gave her a wobbly smile.

“Ah, if Colonel Dewpont insists, I suppose I shall indulge.” Luke could almost see the life leave him as she filled the glass, first properly, then higher at Dewpont’s urging. “Lovely.” Hershel sounded faint.

“Thank you, my dear!” Dewpont patted her arm. “There, give that a healthy swig.” The professor looked at it like it _was_ poisoned, but he tipped the glass up and took a much larger drink.

“As I said, it’s very good quality.” He repeated, his usually modulated voice brimming with nettles raised heat over Luke’s skin.

“Oh, do you prefer white then, Hershel?” Mr. Herman asked. “I’m afraid some of our pairings tonight are red.” 

“Frankly, Mr. Herman, Robert, it’s been so long since I drank with any regularity I couldn’t say.” The hopefuls from earlier seemed to perk up, vultures circling without the grace.

“A bit of a teetotaler, are you?” The hostess, Babette, chimed in. “Your wife must be thrilled. I know inebriants can be a problem with men in academia.” 

“Ah, I’ve unfortunately never had the pleasure.” 

“Clearly!” Dewpont brayed. “Or you’d know it’s no pleasure!” Mr. Herman tittered along with Dewpont’s own loud laughter. Luke rolled his eyes, snitching a few candied walnuts from Yarrow’s plate while the table was distracted. A heavy tap on his chair leg made him jump, and he found Valerie smirking at him, hand outstretched beneath the table. Scowling, he passed her one. She raised a brow and popped it neatly in her mouth.

“-don’t usually clean up so nicely.” Ms. Farday, sat on the Professor’s right, leaned close to him, a slim fingered hand resting on his arm. Luke absolutely was not allowed to punch her, but it did nothing to soften the urge to bare his teeth and _growl._ “I’m deeply impressed.” Hershel’s face flushed faintly. The boy dissected his last slice of cheese.

“I’m- Thank you, you’re entirely too kind, but it’s all Miss Calbraith doing, I’m afraid.” He waved off the compliment. 

“Oh?” Farday smiled, her teeth sharp and gleaming. “Miss? An intimate friend, I imagine.” 

“Oh, no, no.” Hershel smiled, more comfortable now that he was speaking of someone else. “She’s a colleague from the Other Side, one of the Arts. It was pointed out when I received my invitation that I’m a bit hopeless when it comes to clothing, and she was kind enough to help me.” Luke had _not_ said he was hopeless, though he knew which conversation had prompted Hershel to recruit Miss Calbraith. He’d merely pointed out the Professah didn’t own any real formal wear except for his hat, and that without someone keeping an eye on his schedule, he’d never actually make time to get anything. He’d been volunteering to do it; he’d choose getting to spend the day at the university to walking the tightrope of intermediate school every time.

Unfortunately, Hershel had taken it to Dean Delmona as one of the many reasons he could not possibly attend. It was pointed out that everyone in the university owed him a favor or two, and “Some of them are even _experts_ , Hershel. Can you imagine?” Luke suspected he’d asked Miss Calbraith, a stern woman who’d gotten on well with Emmy, because she wouldn’t force him into something flamboyant. 

The woman looked even happier with this response. Most of them did, in fact. Babette giggled brightly.

“Do you hear, Robert? A man who _listens_. He must be magical.” Valerie kicked Luke’s chair. The only benefit to having such short legs was that he could kick her back without anyone noticing. Lightly, of course, he was a gentleman.

“Oh, definitely _fae._ ” Dewpont chuckled. Further down the table, an older man cleared his throat loudly. Cecil Kagman, Luke remembered from the investigating he’d done before the party, largely because he’d found the man somewhat attractive. 

“Maybe don’t,” He rumbled. “Wouldn’t be your business either way, he’s not hurting anyone, but you don’t want to start something for him he doesn’t deserve.” He nodded at Luke, as the table paled a bit. He blinked at them, as guileless as he could. This was not the time to be precocious. 

“Sir?” He offered, in the voice he used with his father’s friends, polite and even. The colonel scrambled to answer him, instead of Kagman who went back to his dinner.

“Pay him no mind, Son. Go back to your dinner and your pretty friend. Don’t think I didn’t see you two whispering earlier.” Dewpont teased, loudly. Valerie kicked his chair again hard, but he forced himself to keep still and deferent.

“Yes, sir.” The adults relaxed, clearly pleased he wasn’t going to force them to explain the unfortunate quickness with which society assigned pedophilia to people who weren’t ‘normal’. It was, Luke thought, unfortunate that just this once they’d be right. He kicked Val again, now that no one was watching. 

Mr. Herman clapped, his voice ringing clear as he called the servants to clear the plates.

“About time we moved to the next one then, yeah?” Plates of thick brioche toast smeared with ricotta and peas found their way to each setting. The young woman who’d poured the wine was now distributing more white from a different bottle. When she passed Luke, he had a brain wave that already made him guilty but not enough to stop. It would be worth it, to see Hershel come undone a little. He spoke softly as she poured for Yarrow, who was still studiously ignoring him.

“I hate to bother you,” He lied, “But as poorly as he put it, the Colonel was right. The professah really doesn’t get to relax very often. He’s too soft spoken to make requests, especially at something like this, when he knows you’re getting badgered all night.” That was vague enough that it was technically honest. The woman beamed.

“He seems like a terribly nice man.” She said, sotto voce. “I’ll keep an eye on him for ya.” 

“Thanks!” She nodded and moved onto Valerie. Val inspected him for a moment, but didn’t say anything. The sound of Babette’s laughter caught his attention. When he looked up, he caught the professah watching him. 

Hershel narrowed his eyes. ‘What are you up to?’ He seemed to be saying. Luke grinned. 

‘Catch me.’ He thought hard, and the lines around the man’s eyes tightened. Luke grinned wider. 


	4. Compulsory Attraction

Val kicked his chair, and he whipped around to look at her, noticing the wine woman had finally moved on. Her eyes glittered dangerously. 

“Pretty friend, huh?” She hissed. “I’m trying _not_ to marry you, thanks!” 

“You’re the one who keeps getting my at-” The motor that won’t turn over feeling was back. “Married?” His voice cracked, hitting a pitch more suited to talking to dogs. “Who said anything about getting _married_?”

“I told you when I sat down Dad’s been trying to marry me off!” She snapped. “Did you think I was kidding?” Luke was stunned.  
“You’re sixteen!” He exclaimed, but the giggles around him told him they’d take his astonishment the wrong way. “It’s far too young to be marrying, and anyway, I think you could lift someone as small as me with all of three fingers. It’d be like marrying a doll.” He was also desperately, deliriously in love with an older man, but he could hardly admit to that at dinner.

Val blinked, clearly startled. 

“You know, usually men complain that I’m too big.” A beat. “I absolutely could, though. I was being nice when I asked if you were ten.” Luke grimaced but didn’t argue the point. It wasn’t an argument he’d ever win. He was still getting mistaken for a Year 2.

“Why is he trying to get you married so young?” A more important question insisted on itself. “And, again, why _me_?” 

“He picked you because you’re wealthy, clever enough to be useful, and young enough to be pliant.” Luke could feel the weight of her consideration, a twitchy flood of rage at being described as _pliant_ . “He also doesn’t think I’ll do it on my own. Because I won’t.” She pitched her voice low. “I’ll be frank with you, I don’t like women very much, but I like men less. And I’m only telling you this because you _do._ Like men, I mean.” 

All the blood in his body was in his face, he felt.

“What do you- what makes you think… that?” 

She eyed the sweet wine waitress, from where she stood by the door. Somehow she’d connected his actions from earlier to mean, correctly, that he was attracted to other men. Was he that apparent?

“The professah really does need to relax.” Luke confessed, big eyed. She just laughed. “I thought you weren’t talking to me. Can we go back to that?” His face burned terribly. She opened her mouth, but someone else drowned her out.

“Son,” Dewpont called. “I was only joking. Aren’t you too young to be smitten so quickly?”

“I’m thirteen!” He squeaked. “And we’re only talking, why would you assume that?” The table exploded in laughter as one, except Valerie, himself, and Hershel, who at least looked sympathetic.

“So you are smitten, then?” Babette giggled, “She is very lovely, my daughter.” It took all of his strength to point out neither of those things were true. The records for the Herman family stated that Val would have been nine when they married, and Valerie was, at best, handsome. 

“Any boy your age would get worked up over an older girl.” Mr. Herman said, reasonably, as though it was an observation and not his plan. Ha, Luke thought deliriously, you were close.

“I don’t know,” Farday drawled from her place at Hershel’s side. “There are so many pretty women here. Is she really your favorite?” A woman at the end of the table said something barely audible, but another with dark hair two seats from her seemed taken with it.

“Amity’s right.” She said. “Perhaps, he has some little girl from his school. Who is she, little one?” The woman prodded, leaning forward with fever bright eyes. 

“I-I don’t like anyone.” 

Mr. Herman nodded.

“Yes, indeed. Not at school. That’s why my girl has you so red in the face.” Luke drew himself up in his chair, flushed from embarrassment. 

A sharp sound rang out, cutting through the pressure. The professah had tapped his empty wine glass with a fork.

“I think that’s enough. My ward’s been polite, and you’ve all had your fun.” He was using the voice he scolded murderers with. Luke tried to be amused by it, but the man’s personality had properly unfolded, filling the room. Luke felt, sometimes, that the man was true north, at will. In just a few words, he’d pulled everyone in the room into his orbit, a sense of anticipation running through the room. It left Luke’s hands shaking in his lap. “Now, I was invited, in part, because my particular expertise would be needed for something. I would like that explained immediately.” 

“Ha, you are right, of course, Professor. We forget our youths.” Mr. Herman conceded, a deep disquiet written in posture. That wasn’t an entirely uncommon response from people unfamiliar with the Professah. “Giancinta, if you would.”

Hershel softened all at once, blurred his vivid colours, and became human again. Heat danced in Luke’s skin, but he pulled the best smile he could up to thank him. Hershel just nodded, a small smile crossing his face.

The brunette finished rifling through her handbag and pulled something out. She passed it up the table, just as the settings were changed for the third course, a goat cheese salad. The wine for this course was a pretty rosé. The item looked like a handful of photos as it neared.

“Photographs,” Vindication. “I recently bought a book at an antiques auction, and I had hoped you might consider looking at it for me.” He took the photos from Dewpont and looked them over for a moment, clearing his throat and starting to read.

“Averrana,” He said, very quietly, voice rolling beautifully over the r’s. “Shikernde, aver a arana. Lukinde amista. Thei adena avuwei-”

It wasn’t fair for the Professah to do this twice in the same twenty minutes, Luke thought. The man’s voice, reverent and smooth, flowed over Luke like a caress. He caught the man’s eyes briefly when he paused to take a breath. Heat flooded his body. His blood, his skin, felt like fire. 

“Lumarrat,” Hershel continued, breaking the connection to look back to the photos, and Luke shifted uncomfortably, finding himself painfully hard. The man continued reading, but even if he’d spoken the language, the boy didn’t think he’d have understood a word of it. He pressed his thighs together tightly and jolted with pleasure. He wondered, dreamily, if he could get off just from that and the sound of the man’s voice. “Averrana, sidat.” Hershel finally finished.

No one spoke. Luke wasn’t the only one who’d lost himself in the sound of it, it seemed. The professah cleared his throat, looking awkward. “What do you think, Luke?”

“Lovely,” He rasped briefly wondering why _he_ was being addressed. “It sounds like a song. What is it?” 

“I’m glad you like it, my boy. It, ah, it’s a prayer to the God of.” He hummed. “The God of the fields. It’s interesting because the Arango are one of the few known cultures that had a dedicated male divinity of fertility. They don’t use his name in it, but none of their prayers have had a divinity named in them. Do you know why that is, Luke?”

The boy jumped. It took a moment to rewind and consider the question.

“They thought all gods were different faces of _the_ god, right? He exploded and became everything so you called out what you needed, and the part of god that could do what you wanted would hear.” Hershel started nodding before he’d finished.

“Very good, Luke. You’ve gotten most of it right off.” Usually, he would clarify the parts Luke had missed, but instead he continued on, addressing the room. “I’ve found that’s generally true. Luke is a terrifically clever child. He’s far more skilled than many in my field, and I can say that the comparison is not the least bit disrespectful to them.” 

Chatter started up, Giacinta asking about the value of the book. A young woman at the end of the table, Amity Giacinta called her, looked as though she wanted to speak up. Luke found the noise difficult to follow as he tried to calm his fluttering heart and throbbing prick.

The Professah’s clever, dark eyes met Luke’s over the rim of the wine glass, as the rest of the table argued and exclaimed over Giacinta’s book. Luke’s breath hitched in his chest, and he wet his lips, trying to dig up something coherent to say. Hershel looked at their distracted companions and back. ‘Yes, darling?’ He mouthed, amused and frighteningly debonair. 

“I didn’t know you could speak Arango, Professah.” He managed to make his voice sound halfway normal. He’d known that since he hadn’t had a lot of time he might have missed some factors while scheming, but the Professah wasn’t one to suddenly start acting like this so suddenly. Was he _flirting?_ Publicly? 

“I don’t, or more properly, no one does. But I speak enough of the branch languages, particularly in their classical forms to approximate it.” Luke didn’t think it was properly fair for such a handsome man to be so clever as well. “It’s likely terribly inaccurate, but it’s close enough for an informal reading. I’d offer to teach you, but I’d hate to saddle you with my poor rendition.” Luke had a sudden and very distracting image of role playing teacher. He hadn’t successfully willed away his erection, but apparently, it wouldn’t have mattered if he had. 

“I’m sure you’re very close, Professah.” He assured the professah when he could talk again. He picked at his salad as he considered his options. He’d very loudly reminded them he was thirteen so he likely couldn’t beg off for being tired. He’d been flushed so much this evening that he could probably convince them he was sick. As he picked at the salad absently, he ignored the conversation happening around him. He could complain about being… too full? Or, perhaps… 

“Luke,” The boy looked up, but Hershel wasn’t speaking to him. “Isn’t listening, Miss Herman. We’ve been distracting him.”

“Oh?” Valerie offered. How he’d managed to miss her clarion voice he’d never know. 

“Oh, yes.” The man continued. “Luke is a great and devoted lover of food. It’s actually been of great help to me. I have a bad habit of forgetting to eat, so I find he helps me remember.” Now that he was looking, he noticed the rosy blush on the man’s face. It was sweet. Luke wondered distantly, how was a middle-aged man this cute?

“That’s good.” Val commented, obviously disinterested. “I suppose he puts you to bed, too?” Luke glared at her, but no one had noticed the two of them speaking.

“It’s good food.” He mumbled, hoping Hershel didn’t follow that train of thought. Too close to having Hershel starting to ramble about their nightly routines. The emergency get-out phrase suddenly flared in his brain. They’d set the phrase a couple times before but this would be the only time they would have used it...

“I’m glad. I’d hate for you to suffer through it as well as go without your preferred portions.” The Professah’s mouth twisted into a small grin that made Luke’s heart skip a beat. “We’ll have to get you a treat on the way home, so we can maintain your figure.” Oh, Luke thought. Oh no.

Val’s eyebrows were practically in her hair. Luke felt a wave of dizziness wash over him.

“Do you remember the puzzle about the fish?” The phrase jumped out of Luke’s brain.

“The one with the rings?” He asked, hazily delighted. _Fuck,_ Luke thought with his whole soul. Val twitched next to him, clearly suspicious. “Oh, or do you remember the fish in Misthallery?” 

_He didn’t remember the get-out phrase._

“You know, I’m not sure now that you mention it.” Luke tried desperately to keep his voice in the range of remotely normal. “Val, can you help me down? I need the lavatory.” 

The look on her face clearly read ‘what the actual fuck,’ but she helped him down with one hand as though he were a kitten. Hershel’s mouth turned down a fraction.

“I could have done that for you.” Luke didn’t respond, just wove through the servants bringing in the fourth course. The wine woman grinned as they passed, saluting with her new bottle of red. 


	5. Marble Sheen

Luke ducked into the bathroom off the secondary hall, and locked the door behind him. 

The checkered floor, massive claw footed bathtub, the countertops, sink and even the toilet looked like they were made from glossy marble. The boy needed time to think, but he couldn’t leave Hershel unattended for long. Hopefully, if he wasn’t in sight, the man would calm some, but he couldn’t depend on it. He took stock, instead.

Hershel was going to be worse than useless unless he could remind him he was misbehaving, but with their luck and the man’s own dramatic tendencies, he might start crying instead. The journal maybe? He’d assumed the man wouldn’t bring it, but the Professah also clung to things. The journal was as much a symbol of his self control as a mechanism of it at this point. 

“Journal… journal…” Luke mumbled to himself as he paced around the room, until it hit him, in the shop earlier and last night in the bedroom. The Professah had left it behind, saying it would be uncouth and draw attention if he used it at dinner. 

Luke paused as he met his own eyes in the lit, full-length mirror. Flush faced, eyes dark, lips bitten red. He thought, in this moment, he could see himself the way Hershel did. He lowered his lids, tipped his face up as though asking for a kiss. I think I get it, he thought. His eyes briefly flicked down the full-length mirror. He still had a visible erection pressing against nice new pants, from the reading.

It occurred that he could ask to leave, looking at the man just like this. The people here would probably assume he’d taken ill very suddenly. Would it really matter if they didn’t he wondered. They, he and Hershel, could go home together. With the Professah softened by drink and his own lust, it wouldn’t take much to make this night memorable. He may have finally found his opportunity. Normally if he wanted to do something like this, he'd have to weave an intricate web of possibilities to convince the Professah to guard down, but somehow, it had just fallen into his lap. A little glimmer shone in his dark eyes at the idea.

A knock at the door broke him out of his train of thought.

“Luke?” The professah sounded lost. “Are you in there, darling?” He knocked again, a bit faster this time.

Luke buried his face in his hands for a moment, trying to figure out how to navigate this and stood on his tippy toes to open up the door slowly. 

The professah stood on the opposite side, looming with his great presence. One of his hands groped uselessly over his breast pocket, where he usually kept his journal in the inner pocket of his jacket. “I don’t have the journal.” The usually eloquent man slurred slightly, his words swirling together and eyes dazed. 

Luke reached up to tug his wrist to pull him inside the bathroom to begin negotiations, watching Hershel stumble inside. Even if he had had the time to plan this out properly, he wouldn’t have been able to account for him being such a lightweight. He shut the door behind the man and clicked the lock, turning around to face the professor.

“Did you need the journal?” Luke asked aloud, as if he didn’t know, putting a finger to his cheek thoughtfully. “You could just tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I was thinking about your beautiful thighs, my dear.” Luke watched him, and he shuffled where he stood, guilty, strangely formal. “I was distracted when we were talking about your size, and I became… ah, aroused thinking on how much I’d like to fuck your chubby, little thighs.” He sounded ragged and dark as midnight. Luke couldn’t remember the last time he’d said a swear word. He’d read it a couple times in his journal never aloud. His knees felt weak, but.

“Professah.” Luke looked up into his eyes, attempting to push the professah’s echoing words out of his brain. “You’re drunk.” 

“I think so, too.” The professah agreed with a little nod.

“We need to leave.” Luke gave him a look of mild distress. But the professor seemed a little unsure...

“I don’t. I’m not sure how to make that happen. I’m sorry. I’m only catching half of my thoughts, and most of them are about you.” Hershel admitted with a small dreamy sigh, cupping his face as he stared down at his boy. His eyes belonged to every painting of Tantalus Luke had ever seen, crushed by an endless desperation. It would be so easy. The professah swayed, before moving closer and closing the distance between them.

“Luke,” He dragged a broad thumb over Luke’s lower lip. “Oh darling, sweet boy, I’m sorry I’ve been denying you for so long. I could make it up to you right now.” His eyes flicked down so he was looking directly in front of him, seeing the professah had one hell of an erection.

I could do it, Luke thought. He could pull his shorts down and let the professah stick his cock between his thighs and they could fuck right here in this bathroom. They could clean up and go back to the party. He’d say he was unwell and then they’d be excused, and then he could get the professah home to sleep it off. And he’d wake up that next morning and then -

Something occurred to Luke even as the professor began to slowly slide his hands down to his waist. He pressed his forehead into the man’s thigh to ponder. The  _ guilt  _ the man would feel, overwhelming,  _ terminal _ guilt. Luke knew, intimately, how far the man was willing to go because of it. He’d only survived thanks to Luke’s intervention. 

Would it even be nice if their first time together was while the poor professah wasn’t thinking properly? It would be so much better if he coaxed him into bed sober and willing.

“I love you.” Luke reminded the professah quietly. “I-- I don’t think now’s a good time, professah...” He pulled his eyes from his thigh and stared up into his eyes. “You’re… you’re drunk, and you’ll just hate yourself tomorrow.”

“Will I really hate myself?” The professor whispered softly, beginning to caress his jawline.

“Y-yes, and I'm beginning to think it’d be cheating if I finally caught you now...” Luke mumbled before clenching his hands into fists and staring up at him. “I can talk you into bed just fine when you’re sober, I’ll prove it!”

“Can I have a kiss, still?” Hershel whispered softly as his eyes lingered on the boy’s lips. “I could be satisfied with just a kiss.”  
“Professah, I need you to focus.” Luke wondered how the man survived on this side of the equation. He already half regretted saying no to that offer of a lifetime, but too late now.

The professor’s hands left his waist, slowly moving up to cup his face before letting them fall away. He was gathering himself, taking a deep breath. Centering himself. But Luke’s fingertips tingled as he looked up to his tie.

Luke caved and grabbed it, yanking it down and pulling Hershel down to his level, smashing his lips into the professor’s and taking his first taste of wine from the man’s soft lips. Hershel gasped into the kiss and strained to press close, but the angle forced him to follow Luke’s lead exactly.

Hershel kissed almost like he normally did, wilder but still familiar. When Luke felt the man’s tongue trace wobbly shapes on his own, he finally loosened his grip on the professor’s tie and stepped back with a gasp for air. They were both panting.

“Oh, Luke, my dear.” The professor slowly exhaled. “How do we navigate the rest of this party? My mind feels empty.” He put his hand to his chin, frazzled but more self aware.

Luke hummed, thinking. “Be good. For… for me.”

The professor gave a slow nod. “I think I can do that.”

“And you can’t flirt! You have to be careful with your choice of words when talking about me.” Luke began to pace around the bathroom again, before he stomped his foot down to glare. “And no talking about the whole feeding thing! It- it’s embarrassing around other people...”

“I apologize, I shouldn’t have mentioned that openly.” The professor conceded, before tipping his hat over his eyes. “Oh my. What they must be thinking of me.”

“I think I can leave and go back to the table, but you need to… stop being hard before you come back.” Luke’s eyes went up to him again, as the professor lifted his hat again. It was a relief. He didn’t particularly like the idea of leaving him here like that.  
“So, I can return to the table once I’ve calmed down, then I _can_ talk about you, but no flirting, and be careful with my choice of words.” Hershel repeated back what he’d heard, locking it in. “And no discussing food.” A smile came to his face as a bit of confidence returned to him. He had such love in his inebriated eyes.

Luke’s better sense knew he should be horrified by the professor’s affection for him. Maybe, if Luke didn’t love him with the same shattering intensity, he would. A smile crossed his face.

“You’re so perfect.” Luke’s eyes shone like the sun. “I love you so much, and if we can keep it together, we’ll be just fine.”

“I love you, too.” The professor was still visibly drunk, but he seemed more steady. “ I can do this for you. Will you be okay?” 

“Mhmm!” Luke chirped, hoping he sounded more sure than he was. He took his boater off and smoothed his hair, before jamming it decisively back onto his head. “And I can try to explain… well, lie to Val.”

“It’s disappointing how much of our lives have become weaving endless lies.” The professor exhaled.


	6. Vivisection

Luke darted through the corridor, passing a servant woman as he re-entered the dining room. The aura felt certainly different to when he had first entered the place. There had been a sort of tension, a suspense that left a pit in his stomach. As he reentered the room, the tension morphed into a feeling of impending doom so strong it left him lightheaded. He straightened his spine. He’d told the Professah he could do it so he would. That’s all there was to it.

The first thing he’d have to do was “explain” to Val. Luke moved back to his seat, past Yarrow who was rubbing his finger against the rim of his tall thin wine glass. As he hoisted himself back into his seat, he was immediately dissected by Val’s gaze.

“Luke.” Val kicked his chair again, making him jump in surprise.

“V-Valerie.” Luke whispered, giving her a glare.

“What did the professor mean by  _ maintain your figure _ ?” She hissed. 

Now, the interrogation began. He’d been hoping for a few moments for the script he’d come up with on the walk back to the dining room. His experiences the few years had thankfully made him into a quick and clever liar.

“I was underweight a while ago.” Luke explained, leaning back a bit as Valerie leaned in a bit close. He hoped no one would start up with the  _ ooh someone’s got a crush  _ nonsense again. It would be distracting but not helpfully. “If I don’t eat enough, I’ll go back to that because- my metu-- metaba-- metabolism is a bit too fast.” And of course he stumbled over his words. He cursed to himself, keeping his face even.

“Is that why you're so tiny?” Val quirked an eyebrow. “Huh. Actually, shouldn't you need  _ less _ ? I'm pretty sure you're shorter than my dog. How little were you eating?”

He blinked slowly, before nodding a little. "It isn't necessarily connected to height, and anyway, eating more can't stop me from growing." Val slid him her relatively untouched plate of roasted tomato ratatouille.

"You need the help." She mumbled as she leaned back to her chair, turning back to the party.

Luke mentally heaved a sigh, the relief profound _.  _ The Professah hadn’t come back yet. He wondered if it would take him much longer to return from the bathroom. He worried for a moment the man might simply slip out to the car, unchaperoned. Then again, he thought, perhaps that would be for the best.

Luke stared down at his glass of water when his eyes went to Yarrow next to him, his manicured fingers tapping expectantly on his name card.

“Triton.” Yarrow seemed to be up for some conversation, suddenly. Luke’s eyes rose to the man’s own, piercing and green.

“Hello, Mister Yarrow.” Luke tipped his boater hat with a weak smile. He wished he could meet that gaze with a similar sharpness, but his size alone was a major disadvantage, not to mention his rosy and admittedly squishy face.

“It's obvious what’s happening here.” Yarrow spoke quietly, voice sibilant, lightly tapping his fingers on the table now. “And you'd do yourself a favor to get out now.”

Luke felt his heart beat a bit faster in his ears. Yarrow had noticed  _ something, _ but then again, the Professah sometimes read too deeply into people’s tics or word choice and gave himself an anxiety attack. He didn’t want to do that himself. Best to just ask, he seemed like he was being hopefully sympathetic.

“What do you mean?” Luke asked softly, raising an eyebrow. 

“The professor has the strangest way of talking about you.” Yarrow spoke. His blond hair and tacky suit had made him someone to disregard earlier in this pit of lions, but now he seemed deeply intimidating and imposing. “Good men don’t talk about children like that, especially not orphaned street urchins they’ve adopted.”

This was the third time tonight he could  _ feel _ his brain screeching to a halt.

“Sorry, Mr. Yarrow.” Luke gave a nervous laugh. “I’m- I’m not an orphan. My parents are well and alive.”

“Oh.” Yarrow spoke, features skeptical. “Where are they, then?” 

“They live in Misthallery, just up north.” Luke explained calmly. “My father is the mayor, and he lets me live with the professah since there’s good schools in London.”

That should undercut him. He was just making  _ assumptions.  _ Preposterous. Luke folded his arms and gave the man the most censuring look he could. “I don’t like what you’re insinuating, sir.”

"My boy," Luke hadn't been fond of the man to start with, but he suddenly and violently disliked him. "Are you perhaps  _ enjoying _ the attention?" The man's thin lips twisted into a disgusted sneer. "That's the only reason I can imagine you might defend someone so obviously deviant."

"As I said, you've gotten totally the wrong idea." 

"I'm meant to believe, then, that a man of standing sent his son to some vacuous academic that stumbled into discoveries other men worked for?" Cruel amusement bled into his face. "Perhaps he even stole them."

"Shut up." Luke hissed, only quiet in deference to all the times Hershel had asked him to behave for the night. "The Professah is a  _ brilliant _ man. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Unless maybe, your father knows  _ exactly _ the sort he's sent you to. Tell me, Luke," Yarrow whispered, leaning close, "Do they take turns or just share?"

Luke's whole body felt slimy from the implication and cold with horror.

"That is  _ vile."  _ The boy snarled back, fighting the urge to scratch at his crawling skin. "What would possess you to say something like that? You must be sick!"

"Excuse me?" Yarrow snapped at regular volume, drawing the attention of those around them. "What did you just say to me, you rude brat?"

"You're the one who just accused the Professah and  _ my father _ -" A chair scraped across the floor, startling them both. The sound drew Luke’s eyes to the chair opposite him as the Professah moved to sit back down. He had adjusted his hat and straightened his suit, his cheeks still flushed pink from the alcohol, but he must’ve put himself back together. Luke felt a weak smile tugged at his mouth.

“Good evening, Yarrow.” Hershel greeted with a smile only Luke knew was for show and touched the brim of his hat in a polite pantomime of a hat tip. Really, he shouldn't be wearing it inside at all, but no one had asked for it. Importantly, Yarrow deserved a considerably less polite greeting.

“Is everything alright?” He was looking at Yarrow as he said it, and the tone the Professah used implied the answer had better be yes. Frustration bled into the younger man's expression for a moment.

"I was just talking to your child for a moment. They get so worked up, so quickly." He told Hershel, badly hidden disdain in his gaunt face.

"You do, don't you?" Hershel responded evenly, still very obviously looking at Yarrow. "Thankfully, Luke has mostly grown out of that. Will I be surprised by what you said to him or are you going to be honest?"

"As I said," Yarrow repeated himself slowly, as if Hershel were stupid. "I was only speaking to your child for a moment."

"He asked if you and my dad  _ shared _ me." Luke spoke up, still aghast at the suggestion. Genuine revulsion radiated off the man.

"I could  _ never! _ " He spoke loudly enough to draw the attention of the table. "Luke is such a special child and very dear to me. I could never do something so monstrous to him." Luke’s first thought was heartbreak - had he done something wrong in the bathroom for Hershel to be so visibly disgusted? Just earlier the Professah wanted him desperately. Unless, he thought as warmth radiated through him, the man was this bothered by the thought of sharing him.

"Are we alright down there?" Mr. Herman asked, raising himself from a conversation with Kagman. "Yarrow, I believe you were told to behave as though you had some acquaintance with decorum this evening."

Hershel’s gaze travelled down the table to him, holding his wine glass not to sip from but probably to look more intimidating. “In my absence, your nephew has been harassing Luke - who has been nothing less than angelic all evening. One of the more awful things he's said was a tasteless accusation of the boy’s father and myself not fit for repeating in mixed company."

“Yarrow will behave himself for the rest of the evening, I assure you." The host’s voice turned icy as his eyes went to his young nephew. Yarrow looked displeased in a way that suggested boredom rather than contrition. "And the two of you have our deepest apologies, don't they boy?"

"Yes, yes.” Yarrow mumbled, glancing back down to Luke with that deep anger in his eyes. Luke hmph’d and went to picking at the little tomato ratatouille he had on his first plate. She was picking at her nails, likely wishing to be elsewhere, like Luke was.


	7. Retreat

Hershel leaned back into his chair, thinking for a moment over the glass of wine. Red and very full. This night was never ending. When it was something he still allowed himself to do, Hershel actually enjoyed drinking. Now though, he felt out of sorts, disconnected from not only reality but himself. Thoughts flitted around his head, mercurial and grotesque.

_ The suit fits him so well, my pretty darling. Plump little thing, a perfect cherub. _

_ I could make someone as sheltered and self centered as Yarrow cry in a quarter of an hour. It would take much longer until I was done. _

_ Isn't Valerie a lovely girl, strong? I bet she could hold me down with just her thighs. _

_ Luke, again, always back to the boy, the star he circled. Laid out on their bed, his clothes mussed, the same glassy heated look he'd shot Hershel in the restroom not half an hour ago. _

_ Gently pulling the suit off of him to kiss every inch of him, the boy's delicate neck, his chest, the soft swell of his belly, the insides of his thighs. He could devour Luke, and wanted fiercely to do so.  _

His fingers twitched around the wine glass, gripping it like a pen for a moment. No journal. He merely inhaled and let the thoughts pass. Conversation had continued around him, a stone splitting the stream. He felt around for a thought worth sharing as the looks turned expectant. He plucked one from the inebriated stream in his mind.

“Luke is truly an amazing puzzle-solver.” Hershel began to speak softly, placing the wine glass down and taking his knife and fork to cut into a roasted tomato on his plate. Luke’s eyes flicked up at him. “Just a couple days ago, he solved a puzzle I had been struggling with for weeks.”

“Oooh. A clever one, then?” Farday to his right cooed, placing her gloved hand right on the table next to where Hershel’s hand would be resting from earlier. Hershel admired the ornate pattern of her gloves before he continued.

“He’s quite helpful in the mysteries we get given, you see. He provides perspective that I too often miss.” Hershel used his fork to pass Luke a slice of eggplant he’d been eye-ing, scraping it on the side of his plate. Luke didn’t hesitate to pop it into his mouth using just his fingers. “He’s simply invaluable to me. Irreplaceable.” 

And Luke cupped his cheek, beginning to giggle and smile. He was… just adorable.

“You two seem very close...” A young woman asked, her voice airy and shy. Hershel recognized her as Amity Duchane, whose fraternal twin Verity had actually been in one of his courses a few years previous. Verity had brought Amity along for a few classes and even his office hours once. They were friendly girls but a bit strange, very physical with him and each other.

“Ah, yes.” Hershel admitted, choosing his words carefully. “As I said, his help is utterly vital. ” Unable to stop himself, he continued. “We’ve become somewhat inseparable, I’m afraid. I’ve likely intruded a bit on his proper social life, but Luke has been kind enough not to mention it.” 

Around him, the servers began to change the plates for a chocolate tart, heavily decorated with berries. It was paired with what looked like a rosé. The lovely and entirely too attentive young servant, Wendy, gave him a jaunty wink and wished him a fine evening. He shot the girl his politest smile. 

“Robert, do remember that I’m something of a relic.” Kagman rumbled from where he sat, staring at the man through his round spectacles. “If you’ve drinks for after, please pour them now so I can sleep sometime tonight.”

“Come now,” Dewpont jeered. “You’re not much older than me.” Hershel breathed through his nose as he took a sip of his wine, trying not to laugh. He and Kagman had met once or twice before during mysteries, and he had a fair idea of what was coming.

“I was elderly at your age, and so are you.” Cecil growled. He was a good man, but relentlessly gruff. “You need to stop pretending to be a young man and an obnoxious one at that.” Dewpont blustered on, but Hershel let his eyes drift back to the decadent view unfolding in front of him.

Luke wiggled in his chair, excited, as the tart was set down in front of him. Delight bloomed on his face as he dug in, perhaps more eagerly than was polite. It was genuine and joyful, though, and Hershel felt his throat go tight. Everyday, Luke’s ability to find such good in small things lifted Hershel a little more out of his own abysmal state of mind. 

_ Ahmm _ ... The boy hummed, eyes closing as he savored the first bite, soft mouth closed around the fork. Hershel’s stomach twisted pleasantly, and he shifted to sit back, relieving pressure. I thought alcohol was supposed to interfere, he grumbled to himself, but he didn’t look away. The second bite was just as bewitching.

“Say, Professor...” The woman beside him, Ms. Farday interrupted. “You have a lot of free time, don’t you? Between mysteries, I mean.”

“I suppose I’m not as busy as I could be.” Hershel admitted, trying not to be caught watching Luke out of the corner of his eye. He knew he was a deviant, but as Luke made a particularly pleased noise, he wondered how he could be the only one in the room to see how  _ sensual _ he was. It boggled the mind. “I don’t teach quite as many courses myself now that we have a few graduate students in the department.”

“Professor, you’re being too hard on yourself!” Amity said, louder than he’d ever heard her. “You do all the work for the courses you teach, I know you had extensive office hours when Verity was in school, you get roped into helping so many people, and of course, you have to care for Luke.” Luke was licking his fork, staring despondently at his now empty plate. 

“Now, now,” Farday said, cheerfully, “I was mostly asking when he might be free.” Hershel stood a little, not enough to embarrass himself but high enough to easily set his plate with it’s untouched tart on top of Luke’s empty one. 

“There you go, my boy.” He smiled warmly at the boy, who positively beamed back.

“Oh, Professah, thank you!” He giggled, picking a single berry to pop in his mouth. 

“Of course. I’ll get far more satisfaction knowing you’ll enjoy it than eating it myself.” Robert returned from wherever he’d wandered off to while Dewpont and Kagman were bickering with a fine crystal bottle of amber liquid. 

“Since Cecil will have me pairing my dessert with a spirit, I thought brandy would be best.” A servant following behind held a plate of empty, brandy glasses. “I brought enough for the ladies, if they want to partake.”

“Ladies ought not be around for this part of the evening.” Dewpont said. “But since Cecil is begging off early, I suppose it’s only polite to offer.” Luke had stripped the front half of his second slice, wriggling just a little. Hershel could watch the boy just enjoy himself for days.

“Nonsense!” Farday chirped from beside him. “We’re modern women. We may as well try the stuff.”

“Have you never had brandy before?” Amity asked, sounding amused. “You seem the type to drink spirits.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. My highest ambition has always been to be a wife.” Her shoulder rested against Hershel’s suddenly, and he jumped. He finally pulled his attention totally from Luke to look at her, and she passed him one of the short stemmed glasses, filled much too high. “I believe this is yours, Handsome.”

“You know, Ms. Farday, I’m starting to suspect I’ve been set up.” She giggled brightly. It was worlds more charming when Luke did it.

“Oh? I suppose I can see why someone might try to get you to... _ unwind _ .” She rested her hand over this wrist. Amity, at the far end of the table, made an outraged noise, and Farday closed her hand on Hershel’s sleeve. He grimaced and started to unwind her fingers.

“The professor is perfectly fine sober, and good for him, too. At least he isn’t a lush like your last husband.”

“That seems a bit uncalled for, Miss Duchane.” He commented evenly, frustrated when the hand he’d finally removed from his sleeve caught his fingers instead. “Though I do appreciate that  _ someone _ is on my side about alcohol.”

“It’s good brandy.” Robert commented from somewhere outside of his sight as though one of his guests hadn’t attached themself to Hershel. “Try it! ” Hershel looked over to Luke, hoping for companionable frustration, and found him glaring ferociously at Ms. Farday, his second slice of tart completely untouched. 

“Too much?” Hershel asked, too loudly. “You’re usually insatiable.”

“I’m suddenly very done.” Luke answered, sounding unsettlingly angry. His fists were on the table, eyelid twitching. “Mr. Kagman said he was leaving, does that mean dinner is over?”

“Nearly, thank god.” Kagman himself answered. “Just one more drink and some handshakes, then we should be free.”

Luke turned expectant eyes to Hershel, then the glass in his hand. Blast, he thought as he tipped it up. 

Hershel managed about half the glass. The table erupted in sneering laughter, but Kagman shot him an understanding look as he did the same, except successfully. The laughter doubled. The man made his farewells quickly, kissed Babette’s pale cheek, and walked out. Hershel took a deep breath, released it, and drained his glass.

“Finally!” He hadn’t meant to say that. “I’m sorry, ha, I’m just not exceptionally social.” It didn’t seem to matter as they appeared to have taken it in good fun. Luke brightened and hopped down, tapping quickly around the table to Hershel’s side. “It has been… an evening, more or less, but Luke is quite young to be out so late, and frankly, I need to sleep.” Robert shook his hand, still chuckling, and the rest wished him well, except for Ms. Farday who looked sour and Miss Duchane who seemed lost.

They collected their coats in the entryway, catching up to Cecil.

“Thank you.” Hershel told him quietly. “For earlier, it’s rare for someone in your position to be...” Cecil inclined his head in a nod.

“I don’t believe in wasting good,” He said. “Especially people. You take care, Hershel, Luke.”   
“Have a good night, Sir.” Luke offered, almost shyly. The boy was peeking up at Kagman through his lashes, looking coy. Hershel didn’t frown but it was a near thing. He didn’t like to think of himself as a jealous man, but Luke had a very specific type.

“Professor!” Miss Duchane called, darting into the room. Kagman wished them luck quietly and left. “Professor before you go, I was hoping I could speak to you.” 

As frustrating as it was to be stopped so near freedom, he couldn’t turn the young lady down before he knew what she needed. It wouldn’t do to ignore her then find out too late she was in some kind of trouble.

“What can I help you with, Miss Duchane?”

“Can I ride you?” She asked, turning bright red with horror immediately. He held very still, as though he hadn’t heard it. “With you, I mean?”

“Do you not have a way home?” He wanted to scold her like a child but held his tongue. It wasn’t his place. “I suppose Miss Calbraith might be willing.” Oddly, the girl was eyeing Luke. 

“Actually, can we speak alone for a moment?” She looked up at Hershel enormous, green eyes. They reminded him, somewhat inanely, of his favorite brand of tea. “I’ve wanted to for so long now...”

“No!” They both jumped as the sharp shout. Luke had apparently reached the end of his patience. “The professor is busy tonight and every night. With me. He doesn’t have time for someone who can’t even say it.” He grabbed Hershel’s sleeve exactly where Ms. Farday had, writing himself over her touch and soothing some animal part of Hershel’s brain. “Goodnight!”

“Luke.” 

“No, we’re getting in the car and getting my ice cream and going home. Nothing else, no one else. I’m not sharing you for a second longer than I have to.” Somehow, Luke always managed to say something that left him warm and floating. He let the boy lead through the garden, lovelier by far in the moonlight, to Miss Calbraith’s car.


	8. Inevitability of Resentment

The sound of the key rattling in their lock may as well have been the sound of the gates to heaven opening. Hershel held the door for Luke, who was grappling with his entirely too large sundae. The boy carefully took off his coat and tie and set the sundae on a couch cushion so he was free to scramble up.

Hershel smiled, tired, as he removed his own coat and made his way to the kettle. He slowly, carefully, started to make tea. The canister was a shade of green that lit up his memory.

“Luke, I have to ask. What possessed you to get so aggressive with Miss Duchane?” He measured the tea as he spoke. “Her decisions tonight were ill advised of course, but she was no worse than anyone else.”

“Professor, she asked to _ride you_.” Luke swung his spoon as he spoke. “You really don’t know why I was angry?”

“She only...Misspoke.” But as he said it, he realized that while she may not have meant to say it, she had certainly meant it. “Ms. Farday was also interested in me, wasn’t she?” The boy hummed affirmatively, behind him.

Miss Duchane was pretty in the way he’d imagined the woman he’d marry would be, before Randall and Claire had taught him his true tastes. Farday was beautiful, a femme fatale with sharp claws and a sharper mind. While too sinister for him, she was more to his taste as a man.

However, the one he truly wanted was the little boy on his couch, sucking strawberry syrup from a plastic spoon eyes fluttering closed. His mouth was red from the treat, and it inspired such a bright, searing hunger in Hershel that he shook from it. Hershel could feel the worst parts of himself rear up.

How terribly easy, how tempting, to sit beside him. He could set the ice cream aside, kiss him over and over until the boy gasped, until he begged. Hershel could finish unwrapping the boy, a lovely present for surviving the night, and eat him alive.

As if in tune with his thoughts, the boy moaned around the spoon and beckoned, he went, shutting off the kettle as he walked away. He sat close enough to smell the saccharine syrups and the softer sweetness of the boy’s shampoo. Luke grinned up at him. Hershel smiled back and let his hand settle on the boy’s back.

“Tonight turned out alright then?” He teased, voice heavy with the miasma of arousal in his brain. “Not ideal of course, but you don’t usually get quite this spoiled.” Luke looked startled for a moment, then pouted.

“Everyone was so rude!” He grumbled, “Anyway, I think half of them were hoping to go home with you.” Hershel nodded agreeably.   
“As I’m starting to understand, I was lucky to have you there to protect me.” He leaned just close enough to feel the heat of the body’s skin all the way along his side. “I suppose you really haven’t been spoiled then. Perhaps, I should reward you?” Luke turned up his face to answer, and Hershel caught the boy’s mouth with his own.

The kiss stung with sweetness, and he wanted it all the more, let himself chase every trace to claim as his own. Luke whimpered, and Hershel pulled away. The boy watched him with fever bright eyes as he set aside the bowl. He shifted the boy sideways, with his legs on the couch. He kissed him again, chaste at first, but Luke was quick to open up under his attention. He could taste the syrups and sweet ice cream on the boy’s small pink tongue and in his sweet mouth… Hershel cradled the boy’s little head in one hand and used the other and his own body weight to lever Luke onto his back. He followed the boy down, holding the kiss.

They stayed like that for a full minute before he traced the line of buttons on the boy’s shirt. Luke whined into Hershel’s mouth and pressed a small hand against his chest. Hershel broke the kiss, both of them panting.

“Love?” He looked as drunk as Hershel felt. “What’s wrong?”

“You can’t.” Luke told him “You’re really, _really_ drunk. We have to stop.”

But I want you, lingered on his tongue, you want me, too. He could find a thousand arguments, and that was what woke him up to what he was doing, that he knew exactly how to keep going. He threw himself off the child splayed on his couch.  
“You’re right.” He said. “You’re right, I know better. I’m sorry.” The boy’s lips were swollen, and he looked so nervous. “I just wanted.” He ran out of words but it was the truest thing he could have said. He was going to ruin this child for his own, brief pleasure and destroy his life.

“It’s okay.” Luke tried to reassure him. Hershel shook his head, feeling tears burning to the surface of his eyes. “It _is._ I like it, and I know you wouldn’t… you know, hurt me. You always stop.”

“You shouldn’t need me to _stop_ , I should just.” Hershel screwed up his face and breathed. “I need to remove myself completely.”

“Stop it, you can’t just say that.” The boy’s voice suddenly thick with tears. “Do you know how much it scares me? After that plan, I’m not…” He scrubbed at his face. “It was _so much_. And we’d only just really met… Sometimes, I worry I won’t be able to stop you, if you try again.”

Luke had sat up, ready to chase him, Hershel realized. This child hurt so badly because of him, because he was some horrible deviant, too selfish and scared to have solved the problem himself years ago. There was nothing in the world he wanted more than to comfort the boy, _his_ boy, but even that was beyond him and every part of him ached with it.

He couldn’t trust himself to even sit with the love of his life without committing some kind of atrocity. God, he thought, through his shell shocked haze, if you’re good, if you’re listening, do it tonight. Not while Luke watched, but tonight.

“I’m sorry.” Dripped from his lips, hoarse with pain. “I don’t mean to do this to you. You have to understand, Luke.” Hershel gripped at his own arms, trying to hold the pieces of himself together as they slipped through his fingers like sand. “I want more than anything to make you happy, but I’m the shadow cast over your life.” He inhaled, shakily, tears to his jaw. “The only parts of me I can love anymore are the parts you do, and I’m not strong enough to do the right things, so this is all I have left to protect you with, but it’s hurting you, too.”

“We’re usually happy, though.” Luke pointed out, slowly sliding off the couch, watching Hershel like an animal to be soothed. “The situation isn’t what we’d both pick, but we love each other. We were making it work.” The boy padded around the low table. “Are you… not happy?” Crystalline tears glistened in his eyes.

“I don’t know that I _can_ be happy like anyone else.” Hershel admitted, making himself watch the way it hurt Luke to hear it. “But the happiest I have ever been has been the time I’ve spent with you.”

“Earlier, you asked me to be with you forever, but when you’re like this, it feels like you don’t want me at all.” Luke wept, worrying the brim of his hat with tiny, shaking fingers. “And I don’t know how to fix it because you don’t try to feel better.”

Hershel laughed, weak and out of his control. 

“I don’t _deserve_ to feel better.”

“Maybe you don’t!” Luke snapped, face red and wet with tears. “But I don’t deserve to be so scared all the time!” The boy moved more quickly, but he was leaving. 

“Luke, no, please!” Fear, pure fear, as the boy moved passed. I ruined it. I ruined it. I ruined it. I ruined it. It repeated in Hershel’s head on loop. 

“Stay.” Luke spoke, trying to keep his voice down as he jabbed a finger at him as if he were a badly behaved dog. “I’ll be right back.” 

The boy stomped to their bedroom as Hershel let himself fall to the floor and sob. 

He was a mess. He had been a mess for 20 years. He’d been chewed up and spat out and even then, he had maintained a paper thin veneer of respectability, of a gentleman. Alcohol had shattered it, and now Luke was gone. In the other room - surely he was packing the bag Hershel kept under the bed for the day he would come to his senses. Hershel would be alone, now. He would never find someone else, if he even had the strength to look. Maybe he would finally have the courage to finish it.

After an eternity, the child returned, red-faced and shaking with Hershel’s journal and thrust it aggressively at him as he lay on the floor until he took it. Hershel took it from his hands, shaking and curling around it like a child gripping a stuffed animal. He buried his face in the cover. “Write.” The boy demanded.

“Luke,” It hurt to speak. “Luke, please my love, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I-”

“Write.” The boy repeated sharply, thrusting a blue crayon in his face. “I don’t trust you with anything sharper at the moment..”

“I don’t… I don’t even know where to _start_.” 

Luke hummed, considering.

“What do you want to remember in the morning?”

Hershel opened the journal to an empty page. He slowly sat himself up and ignored his last entry as he began to draw the wax crayon across the page, bypassing his usual convention to date each entry.

_I’m hurting him by hurting myself. I have to be better because nothing in the world could replace his regard, and I’ve been squandering it._ _For a moment, I thought he was_ leaving _, and I would have deserved it._ Hershel squinted the words for a moment and added one last line.

_Having him beneath me is the closest I will ever get to Heaven._

He passed the journal back, startled to realize he was sitting eye to eye with Luke. His face was still red and his tears were still brimming, his fingers pushed into the carpet. Luke carried Heaven with him, more patient with Hershel than God had ever been. The pure, selfless love he’d shown Hershel was the envy of angels.

And now he was holding Hershel’s own Necronomicon, an account of nearly the worst humanity had to offer first person. A book of everything he wanted out of his diseased, cursed mind. For some time, the boy had regularly put himself through the horrors of the journal with an unsettling eagerness, taking peeks into his horrible thoughts. Blessedly, he’d stopped after Hershel admitted that each time he looked, Hershel’s self loathing and accompanying self directed violence increased _._

The boy smiled weakly at him and patted his cheek, then inspected what Hershel had written. He flinched, but Luke only nodded, before adding something himself.

“I would _never_ leave, Professah.” Luke whispered comfortingly. He was absolutely Heaven. “If I leave, it’ll be because we’ll be both dead.”

Hershel opened his mouth to speak but he was suddenly shushed by Luke spooning a bit of his sundae into his mouth. Vanilla ice cream with too sweet strawberry sauce, and some wafer crumbs. The boy smiled faintly.

“We’ll talk about how you can do better in the morning. For now, can we please go to sleep? It feels like it’s been weeks since we left the bed this morning.”

Hershel slowly blinked and decided to just nod. It seemed like Luke was alright to sacrifice the remains of his sundae to let the man sleep. The boy slowly got to his feet, taking the man’s hands so he could get up.

“You’re too upset right now to be dangerous.” Luke spoke in a whisper, leading Hershel to their room by the hand.

Their room was… interesting, he had to admit. It was very much Luke’s and his own, simultaneously. Luke had his plushies on a blue painted toy box in the corner despite their cozy adult double bed with a white patterned duvet. A painting of a distant sunset harbour somewhere in New Zealand hung above the headboard and their bed meticulously made, Luke’s favourite teddy bear resting in the middle. An overstuffed chaise lounge sat to the side.

Luke went to the toybox where he’d just left his pyjamas in a heap. Hershel gave him a glance but watched the boy excuse himself to get changed, giving him some peace of mind. He could feel a bit of a throb in his head, the omen of a terrible morning waiting for him on the other side of this terrible night. Hershel put it out of his mind and set his hat onto their dresser, before undressing himself. He let his beautifully tailored and expensive clothing fall onto the floor. Like the rest of his life, it was tomorrow’s problem now. He had long sleeved flannel pyjamas floating around somewhere, but he didn’t have the energy for anything more than crawling into bed in just his boxers and undershirt, his hands shaking still. 

He _really_ needed sleep.

He pulled his pillow out from underneath the duvet and pushed the covers back so he could slide underneath. Their bed was firm but Hershel’s pillow was soft and puffy. Luke hadn’t touched his own in a long time - he preferred to rest his head on Hershel’s arm as he pressed into his chest.

Luke carefully moved back into the room, still wearing his new boater hat even with his light blue pyjamas. Hershel raised his head for a moment to see the boy in the faint light of the living room as he moved inside the room, shutting the door behind him.

With the flick of a switch, a golden nightlight flicked on. Hershel rested his head back down on the pillow, closing his eyes and then feeling Luke pressing up to him.

“I can see why you don’t drink now.” Luke whispered as he wrapped himself around one of Hershel’s arms. Even muffled from pressing his face against Hershel’s arm, his voice still sounded weak. “It… it all comes spilling out, huh?”

“You love me… don’t you?” Hershel shuffled over to carefully unravel Luke from his arm - not to push him away, but to hold him properly, cradling him with both arms against his chest. Luke let himself be moved, eagerly twisting to cling onto Hershel’s thin shirt. 

“You’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.” Luke assured him, nuzzling Hershel’s chest. Hershel sniffled, kissing Luke’s forehead and curling around him. Luke squeaked happily and nestled in under the man’s arm, close enough to his heart that he could surely hear it. 

Quietly, sweetly, the boy started to purr. The warm little sound was something Luke did occasionally on nights Hershel needed soothed. He sighed as the tension finally left him, tightening his arms around Luke. He tangled one hand in the boy's silky hair, petting him gently as the rhythmic vibrations slowly lulled them both to sleep.


	9. Morning Release

It was the voice that woke Luke. He was curled up around his teddy bear, in the middle of the mattress. He felt groggy, but a voice, probably the Professah, from the other room perked him up immediately. He wanted to hear a lot more of it, a gravelly sound that gave him goosebumps. Luke stretched and left his bear against the pillow, rolling out of bed and grabbing his new hat from his bedside table to push onto his head.

“I would be more receptive if I were permitted to sit out of the event or abstain. I cannot take my pain medication for a couple days on top of this hangover - and I’m still accessing any potential damages.” A shiver went through him when he saw the Professah hunched over on the couch, growling into the phone. Still in his undershirt and boxer shorts, yet his top hat sat on his head. “Ah, no, I don’t think I’m capable of working for today or tomorrow.”

Luke slunk into the room, still unnoticed, watching the man. “Goodbye, Bertram.” The man snapped, hanging up suddenly. The sound must have been louder than the Professah’s meant to make because he hissed and pressed his fingers into his eyes. Luke slipped around him into the kitchen, quietly starting a pot of tea. He skittered into the bathroom passed the man, who still hadn’t looked up yet, and sped through his own morning rituals. Before he left, he made sure to grab a few paracetamol. 

Luke returned to the kitchen just in time to turn off the kettle before it started squealing, his eyes going to the Professah laying on the couch with a furrowed brow and his eyes closed. He was clearly tense, although Luke did quietly appreciate his barely covered figure in the morning light. He could see his arms and some of his chest in this light. He made up a tray with a cup of weak, milky tea, a few pieces of toast, and the pills. At his approach the Professah made a quiet, questioning sound.

“Luke?” 

The boy hummed affirmatively, still trying not to be too loud. 

“Ah, I’m sorry, my boy, I’d meant to make breakfast, but I had to speak to the Dean first. It took longer than I had intended.” The Professah slowly sat himself up, rubbing his head, eyes still closed to the bright morning light.

“That’s okay.” Luke whispered. “Just tea and toast is a terrible breakfast, but I know people get nauseous sometimes. The tea’s pretty weak.” He clarified. The Professah opened his eyes finally, still squinting.

“The English language doesn’t have the words to describe how profoundly grateful I am for you.” 

Luke giggled softly, offering the man the tray, but the Professah took it and set it beside the remains of that sundae from last night. 

“I need to speak with you first, however. What did I do last night?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” He asked, crawling onto the couch. “Eat while we talk though, you’ll feel better faster. At least, take the pills and the tea.” Hershel nodded after a moment, swallowing the paracetamol and holding the tea gingerly.

“I didn’t totally black out.” The man explained, rubbing his forehead with the unoccupied hand. “But my memories are very vague and disjointed. It starts to fall apart around the third course. I did a reading? We kissed in a bathroom. I think a couple of women were flirting with me. I believe I cried somewhere as well.” Luke tried to parse that.

“It was close a few times after you were drunk, but I think we did okay.” Luke tried to decide on what was important enough to potentially upset him with when he felt this poorly. “We kissed a couple of times last night, once in the bathroom and once here, so we absolutely didn’t get caught. Yarrow Herman is suspicious, but he also publicly asked me if you and my father  _ shared  _ me so I don’t think anyone will take him seriously. I don't think he'd stand by the accusation, anyway. You did cry, a lot, actually, and we need to talk about it, but it can wait until you’re feeling better.”

“Close a  _ few times _ ? I’m trying to assess damage.” The Professah croaked, raising an eyebrow as he took a shaky sip from his cup of weak tea. He screwed his face up. Luke knew it probably tasted like a lukewarm glass of milk to him. 

“Oh! So…” Luke’s mind ticked over the events of the previous night. There was a lot. “After the reading, you started flirting with me openly, and then you mentioned the stuffing, then-”

“Oh dear.” The Professah pinched his nose.

“No, no, I cleared that up with people. I was underweight for a while because of my metabolism, if anyone asks.” Luke assured him. “If you’re wondering about  _ damage,  _ um, you asked if we could do it twice last night.”

“ _ I  _ asked?” The Professah blinked slowly. He then gave a dark chuckle. “That’s why I don’t drink. I’d almost forgotten.”

“Please don’t get drunk again.” Luke spoke seriously, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I won’t, I assure you.” The Professah gave an assuring nod. “But if I asked…”

“The first time was in the bathroom at Mr. Herman’s place.” Luke raised one finger on one hand to try and process. “You said you wanted to put your dick between my thighs and I said no because you were drunk and you’d regret it.”

“And the second time…?” 

“We were home and you said you’d reward me for doing a good job and then we like, tongue kissed for ages but then you started to grab at my shirt so I said no, then you had a meltdown and said you wanted to kill yourself for wanting to have sex with me.” Luke spoke bluntly.

“So… overall, nothing happened.” The Professah murmured.

“It was really scary, though, I dunno if I’d call it… nothing.” Luke scratched the back of his head. “But you also said you’d marry me on the same day, so, y’know… Mixed bag?”

“Ah, well, then, I’m glad things turned out alright.” The Professah gave a nod and sipped more of his lukewarm milky tea. Luke still had things to discuss.

“Did you read what you wrote in your journal yesterday?”

“Hmm?” He sat up. “I didn’t have it with me, though.” Luke picked off from where he’d hidden it from the bookcase and passed it back to him. “I thought you stopped looking in this.”

“I had to be sure you wrote what you needed to remember. Anyway, I left you a note, too.” Reluctantly, Hershel opened the journal, spotting shaky crayon scrawls. Why not a pen? Luke’s favourite blue crayon, too...

“I primarily use this to get the thoughts  _ out _ , but if you think it’s important, I’ll look it over.” The man, already pale, went absolutely white. He looked up at Luke, wildeyed. “Why were you leaving?”

“Read the rest, Professah.” 

“Luke,  _ please. _ ” He shook his head and pointed back at the journal.

_ And I would have deserved it. _

“I really would deserve it.” The man murmured, as he continued on. Luke pinched his wrist.

Luke’s note was on an otherwise clean page, written in regular pen. He hoped the man would keep it when he burned the rest. He went over it in his mind, as he watched Hershel read it.

_ I love you so much. You’re so much of who I am and the future I want, that if you die, it would be like waking up to find out the world ended, but I still have to pretend everything’s okay. I know you have a hard time, sometimes, but we’re happy a lot. _

_ You asked me to marry you. I said yes, remember? That means staying here with me until one of us can’t. _

_ I know if I just say I love you, though, you’ll write it off as damage you’ve done to me, so I’m going to be a little mean to get my point across, even though I do love you a lot, okay? If I worked this hard to keep you alive and you still kill yourself, I’ll never recover. It’ll haunt every relationship I have. Nothing you could do to me would hurt me the way killing yourself would. If you have to think of it this way, then, it’s too late to save me, not that I need or want it. _

_ Think about me, when you want to die.  _

Hershel was visibly shaken.

“I don’t like talking to you like that.” Luke admitted quietly. “You’re usually a really good person, but.” He exhaled deeply, trying to keep himself calm. “I can’t keep you safe, if you don’t want to be, and when you can’t decide whether you want to have a life with me or no life at all, it  _ hurts _ .”

Hershel dropped the journal, reaching out and dragging Luke to his chest. 

“I’m sorry.” The professah wasn’t crying, Luke had heard it enough in the last twenty-four hours that he could tell, but he sounded strained. “I’m so sorry, my boy. You’ve been keeping an eye on me longer than I thought, haven’t you? You deserve so much better.” His arms loosened, and Luke scrambled to get closer. Hershel held him further out but kissed Luke’s cheeks. “I’ll have to get myself together and catch up. I owe you some spoiling, I suspect.”

“I want another sundae, but we can share it.” Luke requested, a sparkle in his eye.

Hershel jerked, a bright laugh pulled from deep in his chest. 

“Anything else, my dear?”

“A kiss. Lots, actually, and I don’t want to go to school. We need to  _ bond. _ ” 

Hershel kissed his forehead, still smiling, Luke held loosely in the circle of his arms.

“You’ve already been called off. It’s almost 10, haven't you noticed? That’s all then?”

“I asked last night, but I don’t think you remember. Please don’t drink again.”

“I hadn’t intended to, but I suppose I will have to more drastically decline any events such as these.” Hershel rubbed his chin, but Luke would bet that if it was the Dean on the other end of that phone call, he’d gotten the point. “I’m still feeling a bit ill, but later, would you like a picnic? There’s a small castle still standing about two hours outside of London, and the scenery is very nice.” Luke nodded agreeably.

“I also need a lot more kisses before we can go outside. Last night was  _ bad. _ ” Hershel picked the boy up and pulled him into his lap, holding Luke tightly. 

“I suppose I can do that.” He kissed Luke’s face, all over, before finally pressing his lips over Luke’s eyelids. The boy giggled with pure delight. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey if you liked this, we'd appreciate feedback. Ultimately, we're writing for us, but it would be nice to hear your opinions.
> 
> Also the menu/wine (I spent time on this, so  
> y’all have to look at it)  
> Charcuterie board (brie cheese, pate, fresh fruit, small pickles, crackers, cold meats, and candied walnuts) with pinot gris  
> Brioche toasts with pea and ricotta with riesling  
> Simple Goat Cheese Salad rose  
> Roasted tomato ratatouille with shiraz  
> Chocolate Tart with Fresh Berries demi-sec rose champagne


End file.
